


The Things We Do (For Friends)

by AllTheQueensHorses



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Implied/Referenced Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:06:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29491041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheQueensHorses/pseuds/AllTheQueensHorses
Summary: Jaskier and Geralt are captured by Nilfgaard and held until Geralt gives up the location of Ciri. Jaskier is given the chance to be set free...but with a terrible stipulation.Set sometime before Episode 6 of the TV series.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

Jaskier was woken by the sound of a lock in the heavy metal door. The chains around his wrists clanked as he startled awake. With a loud squeak, the door opened before he could get his bearings, three men traipsing into his cell. He blinked blearily in the torchlight from the hall and winced as two of the men, following the lead of the third, silently unlocked the chain leading to the wall and hoisted him to his feet. The manacles stayed around his wrists. He was sore all over, moreso than he would have been from just sleeping on the stone floor. The black armor of the Nilfgaardian army gave away the allegiances of the men, so that explained some of his current situation.

"Where are we?" Jaskier asked the soldiers but he received no response. Unadorned stone walls with metal torch sconces lined their path, as cold and unfeeling as the soliders surrounding him. Bits and pieces of the previous day’s events came back to the bard as he was marched down the hall. Geralt had been with him.

_Where was Geralt?_

Geralt had been with him, camping near the front lines of the Nilfgaardian army after their last contract. Lines which must have been a lot closer than they were first lead to believe. They hadn’t lit a fire that night, flames of any size stood out like a beacon through dark nights, Jaskier had learned, but somehow a roving patrol had found their camp anyways. Jaskier had struggled against the soldiers until they hit him over the head and he remembered no more. Geralt had still been fighting when Jaskier had been knocked unconscious. 

He hoped desperately that his friend had been able to flee, to fight off the men, even if only so that Jaskier himself could hope for a rescue. Geralt was rather good at the dashing hero act, he mused to himself, much as the Witcher still felt uncomfortable with the public’s attention. Decades of having a bad reputation would do that to you, he supposed. 

Jaskier’s thoughts were interrupted when the men marching him down the corridor abruptly stopped at the door to another cell. They unlocked the metal door and shoved the bard inside, knocking him to the floor. 

There was a thrashing of chains against the back wall of the cell and Jaskier picked himself up to meet yellow eyes.

“Leave him alone." Geralt hissed dangerously at the men.

The Nilfgaardians ignored him. One of the men who had been holding his arms down the hallway stepped forward and dragged Jaskier's manacles over to stone of the cell wall so that he could chain them up once again. As he was being secured again, Jaskier looked Geralt over and saw him doing the same back. At least they were both in one piece. So far.

Whereas Jaskier had his wrists chained to the wall, Geralt had chains around his ankles and neck as well. They obviously weren’t taking any chances with their prisoner. The Witcher pulled at his chains again and snarled at the Nilfgaardians but they paid him no mind aside from a wary glance his way.

The three guards retreated to the door of the cell then, but stayed inside, waiting. Jaskier had just opened his mouth to whisper to Geralt to ask what they were waiting for when there were footsteps in the corridor and the cell door opened again. 

A Nilfgaardian Commander marched into the cell followed by the sweeping gray robes of a female mage at his side. 

“Greetings, my esteemed Witcher. You’ve caused quite a fuss in our area lately.” He smiled at Geralt almost gleefully, folding his hands in front of him in a show of mock hospitality. 

“Happy to be of use.” Geralt shot back, meeting the Commander’s same level of false formality. 

The Commander seemed to notice Jaskier then, casting a distainful look over him that made Jaskier shuffle uncomfortably on the floor of the cell. “I see you still have the _musician_ following you around.”

Jaskier flushed hotly. He was starting to really not like this man. 

“He does as he likes,” Geralt said, drawing the man’s attention back. 

The Commander hummed noncomittedly. “See what he knows.” He told the mage, still watching the Witcher. 

“Hold him,” she commanded with a wave towards Jaskier and two of the soldiers stepped forward to grab his arms. He was getting sick of being manhandled around today but there wasn’t much he could do about it. 

The mage stepped forward and held her hands out towards Jaskier. He tried to flinch back away from her, but the grip of the soldiers at his sides held him firm. The mage curled one hand around the base of his head in a strangely intimate gesture but Jaskier was anything but turned on. Her hand was soft and cool to the touch and goosebumps sprang up along his arms. Jaskier froze in place, feeling like a kitten who had been picked up by its mother. The mage pressed the palm of her other head flat against his forehead. He could feel the mage's presence in his head then, a chilly, unfriendly feeling that made his hair stand on end. The cell around him melted away as unbidden memories flashed through his mind. Places he had been, places Geralt had taken him, things they had said to each other. He tried to resist, throwing up a mental block against the mage's presence and shoving her out, but Jaskier only felt her cool amusement as it was toppled in an instant and she continued her search unhindered. He was powerless to resist as she tore his thoughts apart, trying to find what he might be hiding like a burglar would tear a room apart looking for valuables. Together, they watched his memories of the banquet where Geralt claimed the Law of Surprise, relived every campfire-lit conversation they had had afterwards about it, and filed through everything Jaskier knew about the subject and more.

What could have been hours or only seconds later, she retreated from his mind, pulling her hand away from his forehead. Jaskier blinked as he became aware of the cell around him again. He felt a deep shudder go through him as the last of the mage's presence faded from his mind. He felt unusually alone in his head with her gone but completely laid bare and violated at the same time. His stomach churned and he felt sick at the thought. The mage was watching him, amusement shining in her dark eyes. "He doesn't know anything." She confirmed to the Commander, never breaking that awful knowing eye contact. 

The Nilfgaardian shrugged a shoulder. “Not surprising, really.”

Jaskier flushed again. He could have punched the man right in his weasel-y nose. 

The Commander thought for a moment. "How about this, Witcher," he proposed, "I am not an unkind man and your bard is completely useless." 

Jaskier frowned at that. He begged to differ on both accounts. Kind men didn't end up as torturers for Nilfgaard, and for seconds, he wasn't useless.

"I will let your bard go if first he tortures you to my satisfaction."

He smiled at Jaskier’s horrified look. “I’ll give you some time to think about it.” He said with false generosity, then swept out of the cell, mage and foot soldiers following in his wake. The door of the cell clanged shut behind them, leaving darkness to overtake the room once again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier and Geralt argue about what needs to be done.

“No.” 

Jaskier’s blue eyes glared into Geralt’s yellow ones as if the force of his gaze alone could move mountains and send the keep around them crumbling down. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt tried, but was cut off again.

“No! Absolutely not! I can’t and I won’t.” Jaskier tried to cross his arms but the manacles around his wrists stopped him short so he balled his hands into fists in his lap instead, glaring down angrily at them. “We’ll find another way out of here. Yennefer will come looking for us or we’ll overwhelm the guards when they come back or we’ll..." He trailed off. There had to be _something_. He refused to think of the alternative. He just needed time to think. In adventure novels the hero always found a way to pick the locks and overpower the guards using their ingenuity and talent, how hard could it be? Jaskier didn’t want to think about the fact that Yennefer didn’t know they were imprisoned or that both of them were still very much chained to the wall. 

He refused to be the helpless prisoner.

 _Useless_ , the Commander whispered from his memories. Jaskier told him to shut up. 

“I won’t.” He said again quietly, as if making a promise to himself. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt said quietly, “You need to get out. There’s no other way.” 

“Then we’ll _make_ another way!” Jaskier almost shouted. “Geralt, you’re my friend and friends just don’t carve each other up like a roast _fucking_ turkey to save their own skins. I won’t. This isn’t a debate we're having.” 

Jaskier shut his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. It was quiet in the cell for several minutes, until Geralt spoke up softly. 

“If you get out of here, you can find Yennefer and bring her back.”

Jaskier whipped around to glare at the Witcher. “Yen will realize we're missing and come after us eventually, we just have to hold out until then.”

"We can't wait that long."

Meaning _Jaskier_ couldn't wait that long. 

"I'm not going to hurt you." he insisted.

“I heal faster than a human does.” Geralt said, “I can take it.”

“I _know!_ That's not the point.” Jaskier leaned his head back against the wall. “Gods know I’ve been around long enough with you to know that.” He hesitated for a long moment, emotions playing across his face, not looking towards his friend. Jaskier picked at a hangnail on his thumb, glaring down at it as if it would solve all of his problems if only he studied it enough. 

“It’s not about the torture,” he finally whispered, “I know you’ll recover from it but I couldn’t live with myself if I knew I intentionally did that to you.” He confessed to the cell wall across from him, not daring to meet Geralt's gaze. 

Geralt’s only reply was a hum of acknowledgement.

The conversation was dropped then but golden eyes watched the bard for a long time afterwards. 

——

When the head Nilfgaardian came back for his answer several hours later, the cell was silent at first.

Then,

“He’ll do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! :) As always, leave a comment with what you think happened! 
> 
> Chapter three is already written so I’ll probably just upload the next one once I get the following chapter written. Gives me a bit of editing time, gives you all chapters faster, it’s a win-win! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jaskier tries to find Yennefer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did take a few liberties with Axii use here, primarily changing it from a spell that wears off over time to one that does so over distance. Also, I don’t think Axii can be used as a command to make people forget things, but that doesn’t mean it can’t, right?

_Find Yennefer. Find Yennefer. Find Yennefer._

Geralt’s deep voice echoed through his mind over and over, matching the beat of his feet pounding against the damp earth. His chest was heaving with the need for air, but he couldn’t stop. Not just yet. 

_Find Yennefer._

She would be outside of a small village two days to the south, Geralt had told him. Go to the inn, the only one in town, and ask for the healer. They’ll take you to her. 

_Find Yennefer._

Jaskier was starting to see spots now, bright points of light pricking the edges of his vision, a sharp contrast to the dimly lit surroundings of the woods around him. He reluctantly slowed to a walk, and rubbed his aching chest with one hand. He was definitely not as spry as he used to be. Years of walking the path behind Geralt had gotten his legs into half-decent shape but walking behind a horse for a day and running through the woods all night were two different things entirely. 

He had been keeping off of the main roads, not wanting to chance running into a different group of Nilfgaardians. He couldn’t be sure where they were and if he was caught again and locked up somewhere else... _No._ He shoved that thought out of his mind harshly before it could finish. 

_Find Yennefer._

He could picture Geralt’s golden eyes staring back into his as the Witcher spoke the words as clearly as if the man was standing in front of him. 

_Find Yennefer,_ he told himself, echoing the chorus in his head. She was their best chance of rescuing Geralt now. The Nilfgaardians had released him earlier that evening, bringing him out of the keep and to the edge of their lines. They had uncuffed him then, turning him loose with a shove into the growing twilight and nothing more. They hadn’t given his belongings back, but maybe that was for the best. It would only slow him down at this point. 

_Why had they changed their minds?_ He wondered. He was adamant that he would never give in to their suggestion and that he had made _very_ clear. 

Geralt must have said something to them while he was under the mage’s power, he finally decided. He and Geralt had been together in the cell until he was released, giving the Witcher no other time to have bargained with the Nilfgaardian Commander, so that must have been it. He frowned. The idea didn’t sit quite right with him but he couldn’t think of what else might have happened instead.

 _Find Yennefer,_ mind-Geralt reminded him again so Jaskier put aside his musings and took a couple deep breaths before returning to his sprint through the moon-lit woods.

———

He made it to the town in a day and a half, barely taking the time to sleep for a few hours here and there or to eat a handful of berries he found along the way. Mind-Geralt had faded after the first night but Jaskier’s thoughts about what could be happening to his friend every minute he was gone kept him going long after he should have rested. The sun was lightening the dawn sky but had not yet started cresting the sloping hills on his left when he saw smoke rising from a few scattered chimneys ahead of him. Jaskier could have cried with relief and exhaustion. 

A rooster crowed somewhere in the distance, protesting the first rays of pink light spilling into the sky as the bard stumbled towards the inn. It was on the main road, thankfully, so it wasn’t hard to find. _A small blessing,_ Jaskier thought. Aside from when he had been knocked out, he hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in three days and he definitely didn’t have the mental capacity left to be able to find anything less than obvious at this point. 

He was at the door now and pulled at the handle. 

Locked. 

He pushed at it just in case but it still resisted his tugging. 

_Fuck._

Jaskier felt his chest tightening in desperation and tears creeping into the corners of his eyes again but he bit his lip hard to keep them at bay. 

_Think, Jaskier,_ he told himself. _Think._ A thought sprung into his mind suddenly. Oh, of course they were closed! It was early morning and with the late-nights of barkeepers, most likely they weren’t up yet. 

Okay then, he needed to find a house. 

Jaskier followed the wall around the corner of the building, pushing open a short wooden gate, and found exactly what he was looking for. The house was dark and silent, curtains drawn tightly behind the windows. He pounded on the wooden door frantically, sending a silent prayer that someone was inside and would answer. 

There was a disgruntled yell from somewhere inside and after a moment a man in his small clothes opened the door warily, narrowing his eyes at Jaskier’s interruption of his sleep.

“Please, do you know where I can find the healer who lives near here?” Jaskier blurted out. He was vaguely aware of how desperate he must sound but he didn’t really care. 

The man took one look at Jaskier, disheveled, half-starved, and about to fall over from exhaustion and his expression softened. “Give me a minute and I’ll take y’ to her.” He said. 

The door closed again and Jaskier breathed a deep sigh of relief. He was almost to Yennefer, which meant that she was almost to Geralt. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the doorframe. The wood was cool from the night air. He wanted nothing more than to sit down and lean against the wall to rest for a moment but knew that if he did, he wouldn’t be able to get up again. His feet burned with blisters that had long since formed and burst and his entire being ached from his intense journey over the last few days. 

He startled awake when the door opened again next to his face, not realizing that he had drifted off standing up. The man clapped him on the shoulder and Jaskier’s knees almost buckled. “Right this way, lad.” He set off down the road at a brisk pace. 

Jaskier followed along after the man, grateful that he didn’t try to make conversation. The normally-talkative bard had run out of energy and was still standing only out of sheer willpower. 

They followed a trail out of the opposite side of town, threading through a mossy grove of saplings before coming to a wide grassy meadow. A small thatched cottage sat at the opposite edge, nestled into the dark pines framing it on either side. Jaskier had been focusing on placing one aching foot in front of the other and almost ran into the man when he stopped at the edge of the meadow. 

“She lives over there,” he pointed out, “she’ll help you with whatever ails you.” He reassured Jaskier. 

Jaskier went to offer the man a coin out of habit, then realized he hadn’t had his coin purse on him since he’s been captured. “Thank you.” He tried saying as earnestly as he could instead. The man must have noticed his motions, but simply nodded his head and turned back towards town. If he wanted to distance himself from whatever bad luck plagued the stranger who had stumbled into his town, Jaskier couldn’t blame him. 

Jaskier made his way through the grass along the narrow trail to the cottage. There were birds singing in the woods now, and the sunrise had turned a brilliant peach and orange, the outlines of patchy clouds lighting up with differing shades of gold. It would have been worthy of an impromptu song at any other time, but today he didn’t stop.

He stumbled up the single stone step to the front door and knocked on the door. He realized as he stepped back that next to the door there was a string for a bell with a sign saying ‘Ring for Service’ underneath it so he rang that too for good measure. 

The door swung open a moment later and Yennefer was there, a cross expression on her face at the early morning interruption. She took one look at Jaskier and her expression instantly changed to one of concern. 

“Jaskier? What the hell happened to you?”

At the sight of her friendly face, Jaskier’s face crumpled and he burst into tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think, am I too mean to Jaskier? The poor guy just needs a hug. Haha Let me know what you thought of this chapter! Kudos and comments make my life and I cherish every single one!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier stays at Yen’s while she goes off to try to rescue Geralt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the way this chapter spacing broke down meant you either got a super small chapter or a big one, so here’s the big one! I felt like being nice because we all need more comforting-Jaskier in our lives, don’t we? :) Enjoy!

The wood in the fireplace crackled warmly as Jaskier stared blankly into the flames. Yennefer had gotten him inside the cottage (much bigger on the inside, of course), and sat him on the velvet couch in front of the fire. He had told her everything that had happened over the last three days, stumbling over his words with exhaustion. She had portaled away then, leaving him with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a tray of food in front of him. Jaskier picked half-heartedly at a piece of cheese, but his stomach still churned with concern and fear for Geralt and he didn’t feel like eating. He had made better time in coming here than even the Witcher had hoped for but what if it hadn’t been enough? What had they done to him since Jaskier had seen his friend last? 

The thought made him queasy, or maybe that was the rich cheese after too little food for too many days. Either way, Jaskier decided he was done eating, at least until Geralt and Yennefer got back. He shoved the tray back across the low table in front of him and sank back into the couch. The blanket around him combined with the fire was delightfully warm and he decided it wouldn’t hurt to close his eyes for a second. He could still listen for their return, after all. He didn’t realize when he fell asleep. 

———

The bright mid-day sun was shining through the lace curtains hanging around the cottage windows when Jaskier awoke to the sound of a portal opening behind him. He bolted upright, head swimming from the sudden movement, hoping it meant good news. 

Yennefer was there then and Geralt was too, the dark of the keep’s cell closing off behind them as the portal disappeared. The mage was half-carrying, half-dragging Geralt, who seemed to be highly favoring his right leg. Jaskier jumped over the back of the couch in his hurry to help and winced as he landed on blistered feet that reminded him that he hadn’t taken his boots off yet. 

He ducked under Geralt’s other arm and helped Yennefer get him to the bed she pointed out in the next room over. They helped him to sit on the bed, leaning back against the headboard and both stood back to look over their friend. His nose was mostly healed from being broken at some point and there were other small cuts and bruises scattered over his face which was pinched tight with exhaustion and pain. His dark shirt hid his broad chest, but the fabric was torn and stained darker with old blood in places down the front, suggesting at injuries below the cloth. His right leg had an open wound several inches long that gaped through the hole left in his trousers. Jaskier grimaced at it. It looked painful and deep. He looks up to see Geralt looking back at him. 

“You look like shit.” The Witcher’s deep voice rumbled. 

The comment caught him off guard and Jaskier laughed. _He_ was one to talk. “Good to see you too,” he smiles back, and lets out a sigh. _Gods,_ he’s relieved Geralt’s out of that place, that they’re _both_ out of there. He didn’t realize how much tension he was holding in his shoulders until his friend was safe again and Jaskier could finally relax. He goes to sigh again and against his will it turns into a giant yawn that makes his eyes water with the force of it. He suddenly realizes how tired he still is, despite his short nap while Yennefer was gone. 

Yennefer notices. Not much gets past her after all, and she herds him out of the room, promising to look over Geralt and heal him where she can. Jaskier would normally protest, but his head is starting to pound with a headache and he’s ready to lie down again. 

Yennefer leaves him sitting at the couch again, gathering up a cluster of bottles and bandages in her arms before disappearing into Geralt’s room again. Jaskier remembers to take his boots off this time, sitting on the edge of the couch to peel off the dirty leather and the socks beneath it. His socks catch at the open sores beneath his toes and at his heels and he grits his teeth but yanks the socks off anyways. He pokes at the blistered sores with one finger but aside from being painful and a bit inflamed, none of them thankfully seems to be infected. His eyelids are drooping and he makes a mental note to have to remember to ask Yennefer for some salve for them when he wakes up, he decides.

He pulls the blanket over his shoulders again and almost immediately falls asleep. 

———

_He’s back in the Nilfgaardian cell, standing over someone chained to the wall. Maybe he never left. The light from the torches in the hallway behind him illuminate their wrists manacled to the stone wall but their face is hidden in the shadow he casts._

_He feels something held in his hand too, cold and heavy, and he lifts it to see a knife. The light glints off of it as he drags it along the chest of the prisoner, carving letter after letter into their skin. The tip of the knife leaves behind a bloody trail wherever it touches. He watches as the prisoner’s chest is slowly cut apart, his face blank and apathetic to their pain._

_“Jaskier,” the prisoner says from the darkness and somewhere in the back of his mind he knows that voice, but the knife keeps moving, uncaring._

_Then the prisoner lurches forward out of the shadows towards him and he can see who it is and it’s Geralt. Golden eyes meet his blue and Geralt says his name again, louder this time._

“Jaskier,”

Jaskier bolts awake with a start to see Geralt standing over him, one hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake. His heart is pounding in his chest so loud he’s sure Geralt can hear it. He looks around with wild eyes, as the dream slowly fades away. 

“Fuck,” Jaskier breathes as he takes in their surroundings. Not the cell, they’re in Yennefer’s cottage, dim with moonlight and the low fire now. Geralt’s there and he’s not chained and Jaskier isn’t holding a knife either. 

It was just a nightmare then. 

Jaskier lets out a shaky breath he didn’t realize he was holding before sitting up and sliding over to one half of the couch as Geralt eases down on the other end, favoring his leg. Geralt finds the blanket that was tossed onto the floor at some point and offers it back to Jaskier. 

“Bad dreams?” His friend asks.

Jaskier takes it and snorts quietly. “Something like that.” He didn’t want to mention what he was dreaming about. It was somehow even worse that he was having nightmares about what _could_ have happened now that they were both safe. Geralt was the one who had been tortured in that hellhole while Jaskier had been released without a scratch on him and here _he_ was with the mental complex over it all. The Witcher had a clean shirt on now, but with the stiff way he moved his upper arms, Jaskier guessed that he was still hurting. His leg was bandaged too, and Geralt was obviously favoring it still. Witchers healed quicker than a human would, but it still did take some time. 

“Yennefer had to leave,” Geralt broke through his thoughts. Jaskier blinked at him in confusion so he continued. “Something about needing to warn The Chapter about Nilfgaard’s movements.” Geralt explained. 

Jaskier ‘hmm’ed at that. “Did she say when she’s be back?” He asked.

Geralt gestures towards the table across the room but shook his head. “She left a note, you can see for yourself.” 

Jaskier gingerly made his way across the room, wincing as his blister sores made contact with the floor. Apparently he wouldn’t be able to ask her about a salve now, he thought sadly. Maybe she had left something for Geralt that he could pilfer though. 

The note was left on the table where Geralt had gestured and it read:  
_  
I have to leave to warn The Chapter of Nilfgaard’s movements. Be back when I can. You should lie low for a while anyways, so make yourselves at home. The cupboards are enchanted for whatever food you may want as is the bathtub with hot water, Jaskier. _

His name was underlined twice.

_Do us both a favor and take a bath. You stink._

_Yen_

“As charming as ever, Yennefer.” Jaskier grinned at the letter. He returned to the couch and sat beside Geralt. They enjoyed an amicable silence for a few moments until Jaskier’s stomach rumbled into the silence. He was ravenous, now that he was thinking about it. “Food?” He raised his eyebrows towards Geralt. 

The Witcher hummed a reply, so Jaskier wandered over to the kitchen cupboards. He opened them hesitantly, not sure what to expect from enchanted cupboards. Inside there were two big bowls of some sort of stew or soup, with a loaf of warm bread beside them. Jaskier’s mouth watered at the smell wafting out of the cupboard doors. _Oh,_ he could get used to this! 

He carried the stew - it was beef stew, with a few carrots and potatoes floating alongside the meat- over to Geralt and they sat side by side, both ravenously devouring it. The room was quiet while they ate, the gentle popping and crackling of the low fire the only noise aside from the clank of spoons against the bowls. 

Jaskier finally shoved his empty bowl onto the table in front of him and leaned back against the back of the couch, happily sated. His fingers interlaced across his stomach and he sighed with contentment. His stomach had stopped twisting from anxiety (and probably hunger too), which he was grateful for. His eyelids were starting to droop again. There was something dark under his fingernails on one hand, probably dirt from his journey, and he picked at it half-heartedly. He knew he should go bathe before he fell asleep again, but he’s reluctant to leave the soft couch, the fire warming his feet, and the company of his friend. 

Eventually though, he stirred. He was going to drift off if he wasn’t careful and the warmer he got, the more the dirt and grime leftover from the cell and then his following journey started to itch under his clothes. He left Geralt on the couch and wandered into the other room. Like Yennefer had promised, there was a metal copper bathtub, big enough to sit in without bending his legs. He filled the tub and, after a quick rifle through the cupboard next to the tub, sprinkled in some lavender bath salts. He could use a bit of extra help getting the grime and smell off of him and if Yennefer complained at his use of her bath salts, well, it had been her letter that suggested he bathe after all, wasn’t it? 

Jaskier tossed his clothes in a filthy pile on the floor and sank into the warm water gratefully. His sore feet were aching at the heat but he didn’t care. The warmth soaked all of the aches and pains out of his joints as he lay in the water and he very nearly fell asleep again. 

Eventually though the water was cooling and his fingers were pruning, so Jaskier reluctantly climbed out of the bathtub. He tied a towel around his waist and wandered into the bedroom, in search of fresh clothes. He had a half hope that the wardrobe would be enchanted too, and upon opening it, was pleasantly surprised to find that it was. He left the colorful doublets hanging in the wardrobe for the evening, and picked out a plain nightshirt and small clothes to wear while he slept. He padded back out to the fire with bare feet. Geralt was still sitting there, his injured leg propped up and supported by the table. He looked up as the bard approached. “You smell better,” he quipped, one white eyebrow raised. 

“Shut up,” Jaskier fired back, the tips of his ears coloring pink. “We can’t all smell like flowers all the time.” He sniffed dramatically. Geralt snorted at that, but Jaskier saw the corners of his mouth turn up in a hint of a smile. 

Jaskier dragged the blanket up over his shoulders again as he slide down to lay on his side. The velvet crinkled gently under his cheek as he watched as the embers crackled and flickered with orange light. A thought occurred to him suddenly, something he had been thinking about for several days.

“Geralt?” He asked quietly to the other end of the couch. 

The Witcher hummed back. 

“What _did_ you say to them to convince them to let me go?” 

The other end of the couch was quiet for so long that Jaskier almost sat up to make sure that Geralt was still there. “I told them you didn’t know what they were looking for.” he eventually replied.

Jaskier frowned. “Was it when the mage had me under her control?”

Geralt stood without answering and tucked the end of the blanket over Jaskier’s bare feet. “You should get some sleep,” he said and slowly limped his way back to the bedroom for the night. 

“Goodnight, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered.

“Goodnight, Jaskier.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier’s Very Bad No Good Day

He dreamt about the cell again that night. 

Same as before, he stood in the light from the hallway, shadows hiding the face of the man before him. Once again, he stood over the faceless prisoner, knife in hand. 

This time, he struggled and fought against the invisible power that held the weapon tight in his grip, trying desperately to drop it from his hand, freeze it in place, _something._ He didn’t want this. 

There were tears in his eyes that spilled hot down his face. He knew what was going to happen, how this would end, and he was powerless to stop it.

Once again, the knife flicked out and he carved letter after letter in red, dripping font across their chest. This time though, he could make out the word he carved, bright against the pale skin.

_Butcher_

The faceless prisoner leaned forward into the light again and Jaskier saw that it was Geralt and his heart broke in two. 

_Forget,_ the Witcher whispered and Jaskier woke with wet tears still on his cheeks. 

———

Jaskier was exhausted when he finally woke for good. His teeth ached from when he clenched them all night. The dream that woke him wasn’t the only one he had had but they were all the same. 

Him, in the cell, knife in his grip.

Geralt, faceless in the shadows at first, then tortured in front of him by Jaskier’s own hand. 

He woke, crying or shuddering or sick to his stomach at the thought each time. 

The blanket once again on the floor next to the couch told the same story of tossing and turning all night long. He rubbed his face blearily and scrubbed off the remnants of the tears left behind with his sleeve. The last thing he wanted was Geralt to see him like this. Hell, even Geralt seemed to be taking this whole thing a whole lot better than Jaskier was. He would bet a hundred orens that the Witcher hadn’t woken up during the night crying like he had. It was embarrassing at best and pitiful in the worst case scenario. And he _definitely_ didn’t want Geralt to look at him with pity in his eyes, feeling badly for the poor delicate bard who, getting off scot-free without a scratch from their captivity, instead had a mental breakdown once they were safe. 

So he wiped his face dry, took a deep breath, pasted on a smile that at least looked half-real, even if it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and went to knock on Geralt’s door softly. 

Jaskier was hesitant to disturb his friend, but the morning sun was coming in through the curtains and he wasn’t going to sit around in a nightshirt all day. When he knocked though, Geralt’s ‘come in’ was immediate. Jaskier peeked his head in and Geralt was awake, the covers up to his chest. 

“Morning, sunshine!” Jaskier beamed. The enthusiasm sounded slightly fake to his ears, but Geralt thankfully didn’t seem to notice. “Just popping in to grab some clothes from the wardrobe,” he said, doing just that. Geralt just grunted. He grabbed a lilac purple doublet and matching pants that he thought would look half-decent with his eyes and returned to the other room to get changed. They fit perfectly, of course. Jaskier would have to ask Yennefer about getting one of those. Maybe not an enchanted wardrobe because that would be a hindrance while on the road but maybe she could make him an enchanted saddlebag or something where he could keep an unlimited supply of new clothing looks. It wouldn’t hurt to have a few more outfits for when they were traveling. His doublets tended to get dirty and torn over time, and his first rule of performing was always ‘Look presentable.’ He smoothed his hands over the silky purple fabric and it cheered him up immensely. 

In the time he had gotten dressed, he could hear Geralt doing the same in the other room. He took the liberties, then, of seeing what he could find in the cupboard for their breakfast. To his delight, when he opened the cupboard doors there were two plates of bacon and eggs, with two giant honeyed sweet rolls perched next to them on each plate. _Gods_ , he didn’t know how Yennefer kept her figure with food like this. 

Geralt met him at the table and they silently ate next to each other. They didn’t talk much. Jaskier, because he was stuffing his face and Geralt, because he just didn’t talk much in general. 

When they were done, Jaskier announced that he was going to explore the back of Yennefer’s cottage. He had seen a trail that led around the back of the house and his curiosity was getting the better of him. “And you, my dear Witcher,” he wrinkled his nose at Geralt, “need a bath.” 

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Your delicate senses are being offended now, are they?” He teased, but stood to head towards the wardrobe for a fresh set of clothes. Jaskier smacked him on the arm. 

The bard left the cottage, skipping down the front step. His new doublet (he hoped Yen wouldn’t make him give it back) combined with the hearty breakfast they had had had changed his mood around greatly since he woke. The sun was happily shining down on him too, warming his hair. 

The path behind the cottage led between the pines for a while, then opened out onto a small lake. The lake glinted with light and Jaskier paused to take in the view. There was a wooden dock laying out over the water, and he walked out along it to see what he could see. The water was clear and he could see several big fish swimming their way lazily around on the bottom. He was struck with a sudden good thought. He could take Geralt fishing! He knew the Witcher knew how to fish when they needed food, but there was something very different about fishing because you needed to and fishing for leisure. Jaskier typically wouldn’t have much patience for fishing, he would rather sit and play his lute or compose a new song, but he was still missing his lute and he was determined to enjoy the nice day. 

He traipsed back to the cottage, a smile on his face and a new song starting to flutter around in his heart. Maybe this was going to turn out to be a good day after all. The birds singing in the trees above him agreed. 

He burst through the door in a hurry. “Geralt! We simply _must_ go fishing...” The words died on his lips. 

Geralt was standing next to the bathtub, damp, with one hand on the towel around his waist, the other grabbing too slowly at a shirt that he held in front of his chest so Jaskier wouldn’t see his scars.

But Jaskier saw and the smile slipped from his face. 

There were pink letters cutting across Geralt’s chest, newly-healed. Jaskier didn’t need to know Witcher healing rates to know the scars were only a few days old. 

His blood ran cold in his veins and he heard nothing but the blood rushing in his ears.

“Geralt?” His voice was strained. 

He couldn’t talk his eyes off of the end of a scar where Geralt’s shirt didn’t cover it. It was the edge of the letter ‘r.’

_Butcher_

A letter Jaskier knew with sudden certainty that he had put there. 

He spun on his heel, suddenly desperate for fresh air. The inside of the cabin felt like it was suffocating him, pressing in from all sides with panic-laced air, filling his lungs with fear and self-loathing, and a million other emotions he didn’t know how to name. 

He crashed through the door, still open from where he had come in just a minute ago and bolted to the end of the porch before vomiting into the grass. His hands were shaking, no, his whole body was trembling now that he thought of it. He coughed the last of his breakfast up, then spat to clear his mouth. 

He heard Geralt come out onto the porch behind him, but he didn’t turn to look, just focused on breathing in and out, in and out, willing his hands to stop shaking. They didn’t. 

“Jaskier,” his friend said and it sounded like there was desperation in his voice. 

Jaskier spun around and his “I didn’t mean to,” clashed in midair with Geralt’s “I had to.”

Jaskier blinked at that in surprise. “Wait,” he breathed, and his horror and guilt transformed slowly into fear and indignation and accusation. His thoughts were whirling in circles around him, connecting in ways he didn’t want them to. “Did you use Axii on me?” He whispered, horrified, accusing.

Geralt took a half-step forward. “ _Fuck._ Jaskier,” he tried to explain again, but it wasn’t a _no_ and that was all Jaskier needed to know, all he _wanted_ to know. He backed away, slowly at first, then he bumped into the porch railing behind him. 

“I don’t think I want to be around you right now.” He whispered, tears burning in the corners of his eyes. “Stay away from me!”

He turned and ran. 

He didn’t see the hurt and guilt that bloomed deep in his friend’s eyes behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo...on a scale from one to ‘you’re a terrible person,’ how mean was I to poor Jaskier? If you thought he needed a hug before... A good ending is coming though, I promise!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The big make-up you’ve all been waiting for!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure I like how this ends but here we go anyways! :) Hope you enjoy it!

Jaskier ended up back at the lake. His thoughts flew around him like an angry nest of hornets, never settling long enough for him to think about one topic over another. He wasn’t sure what he felt, only that he was upset. Upset at Geralt for using his own mind and body against him, against his _friend._ Upset at himself for even being weak minded enough for it to work in the first place. Upset at the stupid Nilfgaardians who caused this whole stupid situation in the first place. Stupid armies and stupid invasions and stupid patrols capturing stupid people.

Sometimes he convinced himself that he would settle down, somewhere far from here, wherever here happened to be at the time. Get a small cottage, woo a local lady who would then become his wife. Have a gaggle of kids that would run around their feet the same way the flock of chickens in their backyard would do. Just leave the armies and politics and the wrong versus right alone. Because it would _all_ be right. 

But somewhere deep down even as he tried to convince himself, he knew he would miss the adventure. The ever-changing roads and villages, the changing scenery, new things to see and new bardic inspiration everywhere he would turn. He wasn’t made to be tied down to one place for the rest of his life. And, much as it hurt to think of right now, he would miss Geralt. The Witcher might be dense as bricks sometimes, might annoy Jaskier to the point of wanting to scream at others, but he was Jaskier’s oldest and dearest friend. Sure, he had friends at Oxenfurt over the winters, but they were more passing acquaintances than anything. He hadn’t risked life and death alongside them or willingly spent his time with them for decades. A few conversations over a pint a few times over the winter months were a cheap replacement for the friendship that had grown between Geralt and himself over the years.

Which is why it hurt so bloody much that Geralt had done...that. 

He thought he had made it painfully clear to Geralt when they were chained in the cell together that he wouldn’t hurt his friend. But then again, he thought he _hadn’t_ hurt him either.

On top of that, Jaskier didn’t know why Geralt had used Axii on him without asking him first. That made the whole situation more painful, as if Geralt didn’t think Jaskier could be trusted. There was definitely a lack of trust going around right now, Jaskier thought, ruefully, and he didn’t like it.

He leaned his head against the dock piling next to where he sat. The fish were still swimming aimlessly around in the water below his feet and he glared at them. He was jealous of their lack of caring. Sometimes it would just be simpler to be a fish, he thought. He picked a fallen leaf off of the dock and tossed it into the lake. It was caught on top of the water and spun lazily in a circle, gentle ripples emanating out from where it had landed. One of the fish swam up to it hoping for food, but after a nibble, sank back down to the bottom. 

Jaskier sighed deeply. He was exhausted again, both from his lack of sleep last night and from the emotional trainwreck that came from knowing Geralt of Rivia lately. The sun was still warm at his back and he thought he wouldn’t mind closing his eyes for a bit. 

———

When he woke again, he was hot from the afternoon sun and his neck was stiff from where he had been leaning against the wooden piling. Jaskier stretched groggily, not really wanting to move but the sun was beating down on him, too warm now, and his stomach growled. _Right,_ he had somewhat lost all of his breakfast, hadn’t he? He rubbed a hand over his face. He really wasn’t looking forward to interacting with Geralt again, but it had to be done at some point, he supposed, and got up. He had half a mind to just set off across the Continent on his own, take a few days or weeks to himself to figure things out, but he also had no horse, no lute to help pay his way, and nothing but the clothes on his back so maybe that was a bad idea. 

He reached the door of the cottage, and hesitated for a moment, drawing up his courage before he swung the door open. He wasn’t really sure what he expected but it wasn’t Geralt, sitting stiffly on the couch waiting for him. He looked like he had been meditating before Jaskier had came in, or just...waiting.

“Jaskier.” Geralt said cautiously in greeting. 

“Geralt.” He said back curtly, then gave him the cold shoulder as he headed to the cupboards for food. He knew he was being rude and a bit dramatic, but he really didn’t care right now. He could feel Geralt’s eyes on him as he crossed the room, but the Witcher didn’t say anything. Jaskier took just a bit too long to decide what he wanted to eat, partly because he knew Geralt was waiting to talk to him too and he wanted the other man to sit and stew in uncomfortable emotions like he had all morning. Partly, he didn’t turn around because he was trying to find the courage to address the situation himself. 

Finally though, he knew he couldn’t stall any longer. He turned around, bread in his hand and met Geralt’s gaze. “We need to talk.” He said abruptly. Geralt opened his mouth to say something back, but clamped his mouth shut again. Geralt seemed to know he had fucked up and looked more contrite than Jaskier had ever seen him look, but he wasn’t going to let the Witcher get off that easily. Jaskier made his way over, being very deliberate in choosing to sit at the opposite end of the couch, legs drawn up between them. 

He saw Geralt’s eyebrows twitch into a frown, but he didn’t say anything about Jaskier’s choice of seating. Jaskier rather wished he would. 

They sat in uncomfortable silence. Geralt seemed to want Jaskier to say the first words but he really didn’t know _what_ to say. Jaskier ripped his bread into smaller and smaller pieces until finally he couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

“What the fuck, Geralt?” He exploded. His arms waved furiously as he tried to express what he needed to, to summarize the thoughts he had into words but nothing was coming to mind. For once, he was at a loss for what to say. “What the fuck,” he said again quieter. The hurt twisted itself in his chest, hot and uncomfortable. He bit the inside of his cheek, hard, to stop the tightness in his throat from turning into tears. 

“I’m sorry, Jaskier,” Geralt said, softer, gentler than he’s ever hear him speak. It sounded an awful lot like pity and somehow that made it worse. 

“No, you don’t get to be sorry. That’s not good enough anymore.” Jaskier sprang off the couch, pacing back and forth in front of it. “Why the hell would you do something like that to me, especially without _asking_ me first?” Jaskier was yelling by the end of it, his hurt rapidly turning into hot and heavy anger. He didn’t want an ounce of pity from the Witcher or anyone. 

“They were going to kill you.” Geralt said, meeting his eyes for the first time since the conversation had started.

“And they could have killed you too!” He yelled right back. “I told you we could have figured it out. You don’t get to just Axii me and get to do whatever the fuck you want -“

“No.” Geralt cut him off, with a growl. “You don’t understand.”

“Well then, explain it to me.” He spat. Melitele’s tits, Geralt could be infuriating when he tried. 

Geralt hesitated. “I heard the commander talking in the corridor. He was going to go back on his offer because he knew you wouldn’t do it and he was going to slit your throat right in front of me in that stinking cell and I couldn’t let that happen to you.” Golden eyes held his own, begging him, willing him to understand. 

Well. That was more words than Geralt had said all week and the frightened _caring_ that Jaskier heard in his friend’s voice made the anger die in his chest like a bucket of water had been tossed on it. He frowned, reluctant to let it leave so soon though. 

“You could have told me to play along.” He countered.

Geralt snorted softly. “You’re a terrible liar, Jaskier,” a hint of fondness turning the corners of his lips upward. 

“Oh yeah? When have I not been able to lie convincingly before?” He said, hotly, hands on his hips, daring Geralt to argue with him. 

Geralt cocked an eyebrow at him. “The merchant’s wife in Toussaint?”

Jaskier flushed. “That doesn’t count. I was drunk, and _you’re_ changing the subject.” He accused, pointing a finger at Geralt’s chest. “Why didn’t you ask me first?” 

“We didn’t have time.” 

Jaskier crossed his arms. “We could have figured it out.” He insisted. 

“I wish it could have happened differently. Hell, I wish it had never happened in the first place. I’m sorry, Jaskier.” Geralt said softly and it killed the rest of Jaskier’s anger with one swoop. 

Jaskier sighed. “I’m still mad at you, you know.” But he really wasn’t. He flopped back down next to Geralt.

Geralt smiled. “I do deserve that,” he agreed. Jaskier flicked a piece of bread at his face but Geralt caught it before it hit him. It was quiet again for a moment, though not the awkward uncomfortable silence that it had been before. 

Geralt frowned then. “How did you recognize my scars?” He asked, looking at the bard curiously.

_Damn,_ he was going to have to talk about that too then. Today had no end to awkward conversations, it seemed.

“I’ve been dreaming about what happened.” He admitted, then explained what he had seen in his dreams.

Geralt hummed, but it was a hum of someone who was thinking, not his usual hum. “It’s unusual for someone who was Axii’d to remember what happened while they were under the sign. We should ask Vesemir about it this winter.”

“You’ll have to tell me in the spring what he says.” Jaskier agreed. 

Geralt frowned in confusion. “Aren’t you coming to Kaer Morhen this winter?” 

Jaskier frowned back. “Are you asking me to come?” He knew that Geralt had been talking a lot about Nilfgaard’s army and the dangers of being alone on the roads lately, but he had assumed they would part for both Oxenfurt and Kaer Morhen respectively as they always did. _Unless..._ He rolled his eyes. _Gods,_ his Witcher could be obtuse sometimes. He stared at Geralt, eyebrows raised, waiting, until a knowing light dawned in the Witcher’s eyes. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt asked pointedly, “will you come with me this winter? To Kaer Morhen?” 

Jaskier grinned back at his friend. “I think I would like that very much, my dear Witcher.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for sticking with me for the whole story! I hope you enjoyed it! <3


End file.
